


with the ocean's tide

by courante



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Beach Holidays, Fluff, M/M, is it too early for taiwan trip fics because well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 07:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courante/pseuds/courante
Summary: Steven elbows him in that mischievous way that sends Andrew groaning internally: it’s Bad Idea Time, and their mission control is too far behind them and too excitedly chatting about Gudetama Cafe to notice.“I willnotrace you in 90% humidity,” Andrew grumbles.





	with the ocean's tide

**Author's Note:**

> do i have an excuse for this, no. is this edited in any capacity, also no.
> 
> based on semipersonal events etc etc seishun summers extend to buzzfeeders too I Guess (none of this is real thanks!!)

**Ningxia Night Market, 10:52 pm**

“Andrew, wake up.”

Look, they’re all hungry, and the night market is ten minutes away; why not, Steven had texted the others, even though Andrew’s already passed out on the bed beside him. Why not.

It’s going to be the team mantra for this trip, he could already tell. Annie’s gone feral over just _ seeing _the claw machines in the distance and there’s no sight quite like it. Andrew swats at Steven as if he’s a fly but the kind of fly you learn to live with as long as it doesn’t bother you too much. “Come on, sleepyhead.”

“Don’t call me sleepyhead.”

They go to the night market. Steven’s taken enough pictures last time that he’s content zooming straight to the roasted squid without any pretext, Andrew following behind reluctantly like a cat woken too early from its nap. The air is sticky and languid despite nightfall but he takes in the shouting of the vendors and sizzling of meat, fires of distant kitchens, salt-and-pepper at his tongue. Steven burns his tongue biting into the squid before Andrew could snipe it from his hands and they rush to the next stall for sweet aiyu to cool it down.

“This is really good,” Andrew says quietly. His face illuminated by the neon lights seems almost a mirage, like Steven can’t believe they’re really here, sipping iced jelly on the sidewalk as hundreds of tourists push by, twelve hours and then some from home.

“I can’t believe they let us do this,” Steven replies lamely. They’ve done so many ridiculous things it’s hard to keep track of anymore, but when Andrew’s hand strays towards his something jumps up his throat and hammers it home: this _ is _ridiculous, all of it, the lights and smells and skin against skin. Traveling makes one mad and he’s done so much of it the past three years surely there’s no sanity left in him.

Steven gives Andrew the rest of the squid. The crowd surges and dissipates, a beating heart in the middle of the city. They start walking towards the table where the others are sitting and inhaling mango shaved ice, hands inches apart but still too far away to grasp.

**Xiangshan Trail, 6:31 pm**

There’s a typhoon coming but they’re going up the mountain anyway. It’s a rite of passage, Inga insists, and Andrew would be more inclined to agree if his head weren’t swimming from jetlag as if none of the caffeine they’d ingested earlier had been of any help. The xiaolongbao certainly haven’t helped, as delicious as they were.

It had rained earlier and it shows: the stone beneath their feet wet and mossy on the sides, little pools of water forming in shallow inclinations down the middle of the well-trodden steps. Steven’s gotten his equipment tangled up trying to film the sun going down and Andrew grabs him by the shoulder before he could roll down the steps and into a hospital. 

“Thanks,” Steven beams as Andrew untangles the camera strap from his neck. Andrew rolls his eyes and makes to throw his empty bottle of Pocari at him. Steven ducks and laughs and he can’t help but smile tiredly; it’s been like this all trip, from Steven’s ridiculous beauty sleep routine on the plane to whatever mess their taxi ride into the city had been. Every time they travel, actually—

“Hey you two, catch up!”

Adam waves at them from near the top, beyond the bend. Then Steven elbows him in that mischievous way that sends Andrew groaning internally: it’s Bad Idea Time, and their mission control is too far behind them and too excitedly chatting about Gudetama Cafe to notice. 

“I will not race you in 90% humidity,” Andrew grumbles. 

“Aw, _ Andrew— _”

“Okay bye,” he replies and starts sprinting two steps at a time, a reckless act Andrew will later blame on jetlag-induced disorientation as well as Steven-induced delusion. The keychains on his backpack jingle pleasantly as Steven yells _ you cheater! _ behind and catches up in no time, damn those long legs. By the time they’re past dozens of other hikers both of them are panting like dogs and collapse atop each other on the big round rock, wheezing.

“I didn’t know Buzzfeed employs a bunch of hyenas,” Adam observes before Andrew really throws the Pocari bottle at him this time and it bounces off his leg. “That sign next to you says don’t litter.”

“I’m not littering,” Andrew groans, sinking down into the smooth cool surface of the rock before coming to the abrupt realization that Steven’s atop him and not moving, a realization that abruptly cuts off all higher function in his brain. “Steven—?”

“‘m tired, let me sleep.”

Adam jumps down from the rock to pick up the bottle, leveling them with a gaze so unimpressed yet fond that it makes Andrew feel almost guilty. Almost. “Right.”

**Taipei Main Station B3 Food Court, 2:18 pm**

This is Steven’s third time here and though the responsibility of sniffing out all the best boba places still falls on Inga there’s a constant that he knows, and it’s that one’s bladder can never be full enough with the density of choices they have. 

“Annie’s only had one today.”

“Do _ not_.”

“Let’s try not to death by boba anyone,” Inga cautions, shooting a look at Adam, who’s been inching towards the cash register. “And pee before you get on the train, seriously.”

Steven had picked out some postcards at Eslite earlier but there’s no trying to write anything when all seven of them are squeezed around a table meant for maybe two people tops. Annie’s on her phone and Katie’s falling asleep and Andrew’s folding the napkin into a paper boat, _ whoosh_, it lands on Adam’s head, balancing as precariously as his heart is between spaces he doesn’t quite yet understand. 

“And you tell me I’m childish,” Steven mutters. He hadn’t meant for it to sound sulky, but the effect is immediate: the concern in Andrew’s face phasing into amusement, Annie looking away from the both of them in embarrassment, Adam closing his eyes in a way that spells_ yeah, I give up_.

He doesn’t move as Andrew nests the napkin boat in his hair. “Now you look…_ boatiful_.”

“I’m throwing you in pun jail,” Annie threatens even as Steven chokes on his matcha boba; great, he’s going to fall to the ground and die here surrounded by friends, sweating despite the AC on max, tears coming to his eyes as Inga whacks him on the back. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

(Steven shoots boba at Andrew through a metal straw but hits Katie instead and they all get kicked out, just in time to scramble onto the train as the last bell sounds.)

**Somewhere on the west coast, 4:10 pm**

It’s somehow less hot down here than in Taipei, though it doesn’t negate the strength of the sun beating down on them as soon as it escapes the clouds. They go clamming in the afternoon after filming at the salt fields and they all already smell like seafood anyway.

Clamming is a lot like weeding except when it isn’t, because one tends to not yell in pain when accidentally stepping on a dandelion and crabgrass can’t bury itself into the sand away from prying hands. Steven digs up a truly gigantic clam halfway through the ordeal and presents it to Andrew like a pile of gold instead of a brownish patterned shell gently exhaling bubbles. It’s both wonderful and a little gross.

“What, you want a prize for this?”

Steven makes a face and drops it into the basket.

“Andrew Ilnyckyj,” Annie whispers to Andrew a few moments later when they’re both in the same corner of the roped-off muddy shallows. “You are _ such _a dumbass.”

She steps on his foot to drive the point home and Andrew can’t even yell out for help because Steven’s only a couple feet away and Adam’s shaking his head at all of them while sipping on Yakult in a state of zen or perhaps heatstroke. Like _ he’s _ ever—oh, alright, _ alright _. 

Later, after they’ve all eaten way too many steamed clams and fried clams and pepper clam soup, Andrew goes into the workshop behind the kitchens. The proprietor eyes him suspiciously at first, then softens as she sees the shells in his hands.

Inga’s grinning at him in a way that belies her innocent appearance as he emerges from the dark, which means the lady must’ve said something either terrible or… even more terrible, who knows. Andrew glances at the van and notices Inga's claimed shotgun, and the only seat left, _ fine _, this is fine. This is normal, actually, but.

“Andrew…?”

“...”

Steven stares at the shell necklace for what feels like an eternity, or enough time for Andrew to see all of his past mistakes flash across his vision and decide he should probably just go nosedive into the mud. Then he feels a hand on his shoulder and sees Steven’s doubled over from laughter as Annie loops the necklace around his head somehow without dropping the popsicle in her mouth.

“Is this my prize?” Steven asks, and his eyes are teasing as he pulls Andrew into the seat. Sunset glints off shards of mother-of-pearl as the van edges along the bumpy road and they all fall over each other in sleepy fatigue, the AC a constant low whir. Steven’s hair tickles Andrew’s cheek as he slips further down the seat. Andrew puts a hand down on the seat to steady himself but finds Steven’s thigh instead because of course, they’re canned together like sardines.

Steven doesn’t move away. Andrew leans back into the scratchy lace coverlets of the seat and closes his eyes, listening to the even sound of his breathing.

**7-11 outside the hotel, way past bedtime**

Andrew isn’t drunk; Steven can tell because he’s getting there and Andrew’s glowing like some kind of—angel, no, it’s just the lights of the convenience stores in the background. His hair is soft blond and Steven wants to pull him down to the metal rail where he’s sitting and kiss him but he can’t, the 7-11 night-shift clerk’s still looking their way. He sets down his unfinished can and pushes it away. The wind might clear his mind a little now that it's picking up again, and he's already itching to go back to the cafe they'd interviewed earlier. Midnight munchies are no joke.

A grey cat skitters across the road and darts behind a vending machine. Steven’s never been good at holding his drink and certainly he’s not about to start today, even though it’s only been three beers. Andrew’s lingering behind as if he wants to say something but won’t, his eyes not on his can but on the cat.

“You miss Wellington.”

“Yeah,” Andrew murmurs. He stretches and comes to sit down next to Steven. They had done this before, back in Japan, on the banks of the Kamogawa. The city may still be lively where the tourists are, in the night markets a few blocks away, but it is quiet here, tonight. “I don’t want to go home yet, though.”

Steven smiles and sits up straighter. “We’re going back up north tomorrow. Wish we’d take a car, but we’re booked on the train already.”

“Inga said people bike around the island all the time.”

“I bet I’d beat you at biking.”

“You wish,” Andrew smiles, nudging him. Steven nudges back, but stops before this could turn into a full-blown war; he’s still lucid enough for that, maybe, sort of. “We should go back inside.”

“I wanna go biking,” Steven blurts out. He stands up. “When we go back. Let’s do that, after—”

“After your gazillion appointments and talks you’ve got lined up?”

“You make me sound like— it’s not that many!”

Andrew doesn’t kiss him goodnight. He’s a good boy despite his usual demeanor, and sometimes Steven wishes he weren’t, but then the hesitation inside him coagulates as soon as he thinks of it. The hotel’s lights are bright and clear as they walk towards it together and he thinks, but _why not_, and takes Andrew’s hand.

“Steven,” Andrew says in quiet alarm. He seems to have frozen to the sidewalk. “Steven, have you gone mad.”

Steven looks down at their hands, smiling a little. “I guess I have.”

When he looks up, defiant, hoping, Andrew doesn’t pull away. 

**Taijiang National Park, 10:42 am**

This isn’t the furthest they’ve been away from home together: they’ve been eating across the world in a locust-like frenzy for far too long. The usual fare of sanitized restaurant kitchens and cozy tables or even next to a food truck near a busy road. Andrew knows these well. Too well, maybe.

Today, their last day in the south, he’s sinking bare feet into the mud and looking at the sea in the distance and tasting salt in the air. They’re here to poke around tiny holes for fiddler crabs and Adam, true to form, is probably hiding in the mangroves taking pictures of mudskippers. The beach is as empty as can be in the morning and Andrew wants to lie in the tide pools forever.

“Tide’s coming in.”

“Yeah.”

Surely Steven would be tired of beaches now considering all the summers he’s spent on the coastline stretching down from Kuala Lumpur, or watching the ships coming to harbor in New York, or the everlasting summer in Los Angeles. But if there’s one thing Andrew is sure of, looking at him now, it’s that he never will.

Andrew watches as Steven runs towards the sea, jumping up as an errant wave splashes at his shorts. Andrew runs up from behind and grabs him by the sides, careful not to drag both of them down into the wet sand; they don’t have enough clothes in the van for this (well, Andrew doesn’t, anyway.) Steven laughs in delight and his hair is damp from saline mist, sticking to his forehead just enough that Andrew’s compelled to reach out and brush it away. 

A glimmer of wetness. “Did something get in your eye?”

“It’s a lot of sand,” Steven gives as a non-answer, turning away towards the shimmering grey-green expanse. Then he says with a smirk, “Let’s race.”

Andrew knows he’ll never catch up, but that’s fine; he kicks off his flip-flops, reaches down and tosses sand at Steven halfway through and this time both of them do trip over a branch and into the dunes. He’s not an honorable person when it comes to things he wants, and well, Steven will just have to deal with it.

Steven kisses him on the cheek and comes away indignantly with a mouthful of sand. Andrew snickers and leans in as an egret flaps low over their heads, grateful for the momentary relief from the sun. Stupid, childish, foolish things—it’s summer and he doesn’t care because he’s on the other side of the world, and for now, the world can wait.


End file.
